she steps onto the stone pavement beneath her,
the surface worn and weathered, deep fissures
carving far into the earth below.
she stands in what once was a lively square,
a gathering point for carts and carriages
that would fill the space around her in every direction,
smiling faces caught between them,
some leaving, some arriving.
but it’s just her now.
because of the walls.
tall, resolute, impenetrable, man-made,
splitting the world into fragments,
muffling every outside voice besides one’s own
as they talk to themselves, isolated from the world beyond.
the era before they were built is still raw in her memory;
her ability to go anywhere she wanted, her freedom to choose
whichever direction she pleased, her constant discovery of
fresh voices, accents, and tones with every step.
people came from around the world, seduced by the sounds of lively
chatter in the air and wheels clattering through the bustling square,
a continuous ebb and flow of visitors in and out,
a constant trade of simple greetings, a hub of connection,
a vivid acknowledgment of each other’s humanity.
no one but herself has come back in an eternity, everyone instead
living within their confines as if that’s all they’ve ever known since
the dawn of time. she used to know what the world beyond was like,
because she could see it—as far as where the land meets the sky,
where the sun first peeks up from its slumber. but now
she can only see the solid foundations of the wall before her,
unable to see past no matter how hard she tries, blinded
like how the world beyond is blind to what happens in hers.
but then again, they don’t care to see.
they’ll fire anyway.
explosions sound from beyond the walls,
the tremors shattering the pavement with new, deeper cracks,
as crossbow strings snap in the distance,
one snap away from taking everything.
for a moment, she thinks the walls are being torn away,
but then jagged arrows slice through the air above her head,
aimed not at the walls, but her body, the national threat.
she tries to escape them, but they stare her down unwaveringly,
chasing her as she runs, thirsting to impale her as deeply as they can.
her breath rattles as she fights to keep them at bay,
but they catch her and relentlessly pierce her flesh
until her body is left sprawled on the splintered stone.
blood escapes onto the shattered ground, staining it crimson,
twisting through the cracks as if they were veins.
and on the fragmented pavement, the blood continues to flow
for what seems like forever—more than one body could ever produce—
as white-robed angels peer down from across the square, over the walls.
tears stream from their eyes as blood streams from her body,
knowing they’re forbidden to save her,
unless they want crossbows aimed at themselves too.
she tries to picture the figures holding the crossbows
from beyond the walls, firing at someone they know nothing about.
she imagines the walls crumbling, the figures with their
crossbows in hand stepping through the rubble,
discovering her body maimed by their arrows. she imagines
their weapons falling to the ground, her fading eyes meeting theirs,
holding their gaze with fire behind her cloudy pupils,
finally seeing horror painted in their irises.
the last of the color in her face drips into the
fractured stone beneath her, and she shakily inhales
a final, tragic breath. the fragments of stone
under her body gleam red, forever stained by
her crimson blood—a reminder.
the angels in white grieve for her
with their hands still bound, unable to move,
while the armed figures beyond the walls continue to fire their arrows,
not truly knowing what they’ve done.
only when the blood spills into every crevice of the earth
will they know, bubbling up beyond the walls,
carrying a million lost voices, a million lost chances,
staining the earth crimson.
The Roar 